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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033159">From Perdition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC'>SandrC</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eldritch-tober 2020 [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Doodler!Henry, Drowning, Oakvale Bad End, Vague Eldritch Horror</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They grab him by the hand and drag him from the hell of his own mind.</p>
<p>(The fall of the Tower of Babel.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Oak &amp; Lark Oak, Henry Oak &amp; Sparrow Oak, Lark Oak &amp; Sparrow Oak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eldritch-tober 2020 [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From Perdition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt 18: Alone</p>
<p>This has been sitting in my WIPs for a long time and I finally finished it. Was this how I was going to do it originally? Idk. It was very very unfinished but I liked it enough to scrape up the bottom of it and make the cake presentable.</p>
<p>Anyway I think that's it for my Oakvale Bad End AU. It was a fun place to play in and I think I'll definitely try to finish Memories coz it is actually a good fucking idea and I enjoy it as a concept and with the execution I applied thus far.</p>
<p>Hope yall like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He is—</p>
<p>
  <em>Drowning</em>
</p>
<p>Deep, dark, <em>devastating</em></p>
<p>Every bit of anger he has ever felt as a child until this point</p>
<p>It <em>floods</em> him. Fills his lungs his heart his eyes <em>eyes <strong>eyes <span class="u">eyeseyeseyes—</span></strong></em></p>
<p>He's <em>choking</em> on the sentiment.</p>
<p>It—it wants to be called "they" or "him", wants to <em>claim</em> to be Henry, despite it being markedly <em>not</em>—bends down and picks up Darryl. As Henry claws at the ocean of bile and black and anger and hate and <em>hate</em> and <strong><em>hate</em> <span class="u"><em>and</em></span></strong>—it <em>flinches</em> but tears - rips - <em>warps</em> its mouth into something that can make words and reassures Darryl. <em>Lies to him.</em></p>
<p>(He can, in the depth of this thing, <em>feel</em> its insincerity. It is being kind—insofar as it <em>can</em> be kind, pitying, <em>cloying</em>, in the way you tell a child <em>everything will be alright</em> when it <em>will not</em>, in fact be alright—but it is looking for worship and adulation. It does not care in the same way <em>Henry</em> cares—<em>did</em> Henry care or was he starved drowning <em>starved drowning</em> cold <em>cold <strong>cold</strong></em> freezing alone <strong><em>alone</em></strong> <em>no one</em> cares what's wrong with you <em>no one</em> is going to come <em>no one</em> is going to answer <em>no one)</em></p>
<p>
  <strong>d r o w n i n g</strong>
</p>
<p>Above him (around - outside - inverted) are two bright points of light. He can hear (feel - understand - knows) <em>someone</em> call out. He thrashes and pulls and claws and (not again <em>not again</em> he said <em>he promised</em> he would do better <em>be better</em> he's <em>better</em> than this) begs any and all gods to help him.</p>
<p>(He remembers the gods of this world. Selûne, his mother's goddess. Arathis. Morridan. The Raven Queen. Mask. Tiamat. Umberlee. Lolth. Tyr. Istus. Myrkule. Garl Glittergold. Hundreds of thousands of deities. He would give <em>everything</em> if one would only answer him.)</p>
<p>
  <em>(But nobody comes.)</em>
</p>
<p>"Now <em>that's</em> a lie!"</p>
<p>"<em>We've</em> come!"</p>
<p>"Unless you've been lying to us our whole life and, in fact, we aren't somebodies after all."</p>
<p>"In which case: we're <em>severely</em> disappointed in you."</p>
<p>"Either way...it's time for you to stop mindlessly fucking up this poor excuse for an escape attempt."</p>
<p>"<em>Really</em>...you should know better! Even <em>we</em> did more impressive things than this. As <em>babies</em>, no less!"</p>
<p>"After all: we learned it from you."</p>
<p>And there was <strong><em>light</em></strong>—</p>
<p>He exhales (coughs, splutters pistol shots, soggy clothes and breezeblocks) and the thing that used to be the Doodler, the thing <em>claiming</em> to be Henry, the curse on the Oak bloodline lets out a keening shriek of psychic torment. Everyone there, <em>every single person</em> who can hear, doubles over as pain rips through them and blood dribbles down their jawline, seeping out of their ears.</p>
<p>In that same shriek, it's gone, back into his veins as it had been sitting, the oily discomfort a comforting sensation under his skin.</p>
<p>Henry lets out a shuddery breath. He's shaking so hard he can hear his teeth clatter. He may be having a panic attack.</p>
<p>(He <em>is</em> and it is a stark reminder, <em>contrast</em> against the beautiful <em>elation</em> that had been being him-them, this white cold panic that takes his bones like a thief. Leaves him weak and worthless and reliant on others. It's comforting to know he doesn't have to be in control for once. It's <em>terrifying</em> to rely on others.)</p>
<p>His boys hold his hands, squeezing him tight like a heartbeat. Once, <em>twice, <strong>thrice.</strong></em></p>
<p>(<em>We are here. We have you. Be not afraid</em>.)</p>
<p>And he <em>is</em>.</p>
<p>And he <em>isn't</em>.</p>
<p>And he <em>breathes</em>, unbound, and it is the sweetest air he has ever tasted.</p>
<p>He is <em>so</em> grateful—</p>
<p>Elated</p>
<p>
  <em>Relieved</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He</em>
  <strong>
    <em> is—</em>
  </strong>
</p>
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